House of Cards
by lone astronomer
Summary: Bedside vigils were not his specialty. Follows "Crush" and "Bad Ideas." HouseCameron. Completed!
1. Fallout

House of Cards

Disclaimer: Yeah, not mine. I bet you're all as devastated as I am… :P Just kidding.

Notes: Follows _Crush_ and _Bad Ideas_. Love all you reviewers. You make me happy. This one's an episode in four parts, so keep an eye out. J

__

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone  
It's not warm when she's away  
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone  
And she's always gone too long anytime she goes away

James Taylor, _Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone_

/h

When he found out she was going to live, he didn't know how to react. Foreman and Chase allowed for an embarrassed man-hug and shied away from each other directly afterwards. Wilson leaned his head back against the wall and let his whole body sag. The surgeons looked at each other in relief and congratulations.

House went back to the morgue to finish the post-mortem on the kid, and when it occurred to him that someone had very nearly had to do this to Cameron he had to call the whole thing off and just go home.

At least, that's what he thought he should do; what he ended up doing was meandering around the ICU until one of the orderlies asked if he wanted a cot to stay overnight on. He decided then that it would be prudent to get some rest, to let Wilson, who had stayed with him, go home to his wife, and to quit giving what was clearly the wrong impression. Bedside vigils were not his specialty.

He made a mental note to call Cameron's parents in the morning; they were sure to be on file somewhere. They would want answers… Cameron would want them to have answers. He didn't like dealing with people, but this was clearly within his duties as a doctor, as someone who had seen what had happened, and as someone who cared about her.

He wished he could have discounted that last reason.

Sleep did not come easily, not that this was a new affliction. Instead he sat at the piano, fingers caressing the keys, not really playing anything in particular. He tried composing something, but just as it had happened before, the minute he tried to remember what he was playing, the tune faded. That night he lay in bed staring at the ceiling and wondered at what point his life had made the turn from bad to worse, and why he'd driven himself there.

Fear seemed to be the only answer, but then fear was the answer to a lot of life's greatest mysteries. Fear of change, of bereavement, really. Almost anyone and anything you liked could be taken away from you. He'd lost the ability to run, to play lacrosse. He'd lost Stacy days later. After that, everyone had looked at him differently because he had looked at everyone else differently. That was why he liked monster trucks and soap operas, not people; that was why they made him happy. He could pretend his life was normal for a little while as he watched them. Wilson was the notable exception to this rule on the basis that Wilson had gone through a lot of changes before House had his infarction- two wives, two divorces- and their friendship hadn't changed much except for the amount of lip Wilson had to put up with. It was constant, comforting.

It wasn't enough.

House had learned two things from the day's misadventures. First, he had learned that you could not make a conscious decision whether to like someone or not, despite all of his experiences with the morons in the clinic that pointed to the opposite.

Second, he had learned that his fears were well-founded, but not productive. Being afraid of something wasn't going to stop it from happening. Somehow, he didn't find that thought very comforting.

/h

He made sure Chase was there when she woke up, because he couldn't bear to release his anger at her just yet; he'd received a copy of her letter of resignation on his desk that morning and didn't think he could face her without making an accusation.

Chase had said she looked terrible. That wasn't what House needed to hear and it sure as hell wasn't something he needed to see, so he stayed away for as long as possible, dealing with paperwork and other administrative details.

It was a New Jersey area code, somewhere out in the country. "Yes, this is Dr. House calling," and hey, that was almost a pun, almost _funny_- "May I ask who I'm addressing?" He was purposely, painfully polite.

It was Cameron's mother.

"Mrs. Cameron, are you sitting down?"

And now, he knew, she was sitting, waiting for the bomb to drop, waiting for the floor to fall from under her feet. He knew what that felt like.

"It's Cameron- Allison-" Strangely, he'd never considered that Cameron had a first name before, and he stumbled over the idea- "she was attacked late last night. Stabbed. She's out of danger. No, we expect her to make a full recovery. Oh. Room number? Three-sixty-one." He didn't even look at the file, and he'd never been there. "I'm very sorry. You're welcome. Good-bye."

When he hung up the phone, it was with a curious and self-derogatory frown. What an impersonal way to contact the loved ones of someone you had known for so long. He wondered if they would come to visit.

/h

He knew Wilson was at the door without looking up from his Gameboy. "If you've come to ask me for a consult, this is a bad time." Stupid, stupid space monkeys.

Wilson said nothing until House gave in and looked up, at which point he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Cameron's asking for you."

__

Shit. Now he had guilt. But he _couldn't _go see her. He never saw patients on principle. Anyway, he was angry. Right. "I'm _famous_. Renowned, even. Half the country is asking for me."

"First of all, that's _infamous_. Secondly, you don't have a moral obligation to half the country." Wilson frowned at him. "Listen, she knows you were there. You're her friend, you're supposed to be there for her."

__

Friend. He wasn't sure if that was the problem or the solution. "Did she hear from her parents yet?"

"They're coming up tomorrow, so be on your best behavior." Wilson reached across the table and plucked the Gameboy from his hands. "Lab coat, stethoscope, impeccable bedside manner: the whole concerned savior act. Now get going."

House grabbed his cane reluctantly and went the long way around.

The blinds were drawn around her room, a fact for which he was grateful. He could see her silhouette through the window, nothing more than a series of lifeless shadows, barely moving. He was sure he couldn't go in.

Then Chase emerged from the room, shaking his head and laughing, and House had the irrational urge to hide somewhere. Usually only Cuddy could inspire that kind of fight-or-flight response. Chase, either because he was a sadistic bastard or because he wanted to cheer Cameron up, or maybe a little of both, apparently felt the need to announce his presence. He poked his head back into Cameron's room. "You've got a visitor," he said, and left with a very pointed look in House's direction. It said, quite clearly, _Don't screw this up_.

It was an impossible request. _Don't screw up_. He'd done nothing but screw up his personal life for over six years; that was why he didn't have one anymore. But he would save the disappointment for later.

He hobbled lamely inside with what he felt was probably barely-concealed dread, hoping to keep his eyes away from her, but by the same token hopelessly drawn.

"You look like shit." A voice from the half-light, sounding more tired than she probably would have liked.

House blinked once, grabbed the wheeled stool in the corner and slid himself closer. "Didn't get much sleep last night. You're looking stunning as always."

Cameron, who in fact looked like she was recovering from multiple stab wounds, laughed weakly. "You mean all I had to do to get you to be nice to me was get mugged? I should have tried this ages ago."

In that moment, House was unsure if he was fiercely proud of her or deeply ashamed of himself. Nonetheless, her comment disarmed him, or rearmed him, depending on how one looked at it. He started to remember part of the reason he was there. "Don't push your luck."

"I think I've done enough of that for a few days." Hazy eyes. Unaffected words, slipping lazily off her tongue like honey from a comb. Morphine drip, he realized, and that explained why she wasn't quite herself.

Still, she definitely had a point. Then again, so did he. "You quit," he said, and it didn't sound quite like an accusation, not like he thought it would. It sounded lonely, vulnerable, betrayed. Lost. Helpless. _Abandoned_. It sounded like _you left me here alone_. Out loud he would have added _with these morons_, in an effort to sound less pathetic.

Cameron turned her head away from him. "We needed to do the MRI and the EKG and the rest of it. And you knew one of us had to go anyway."

Uh oh. More coherent than he had anticipated. "I would have thought of something. I was buying time--"

"You were going to fire me anyway," she snapped, looking at him with narrowed eyes. Then, gentler, "It was easier this way."

__

Misdirect. "You need to get over your fear of confrontations," he told her coldly.

It wasn't until she smirked that he realized how that must have sounded, coming from him. Maybe it was time to set the record straight. "I fired Chase."

That got her attention. Cameron's mouth dropped open slightly. "What?"

"I tried, anyway," he explained, suddenly unaccountably frustrated. Or perhaps very accountably frustrated. He should have known she'd have questions he didn't want to answer. She always did. "Vogler said to choose someone else."

She wasn't saying anything, whether it was because it was a good strategy to keep him talking or because she didn't believe him.

"I never got the chance to choose someone else." House hated confessions, especially when he was the one making them. "Anyway, Vogler would have made me fire you."

"Why?"

He thought very seriously about lying to her, or walking away from her awkward questions. "Because he wants to make me miserable." He hated that anyone should know him so well, especially Vogler.

Mixed response on that one- the hint of a smile played about her lips, but her eyes were serious, if cloudy. "Got a bit of a head start on you. And you said you didn't even like me."

Yeah, this was about his cue to leave. He forced himself to his feet and reached for his Vicodin. He was halfway out the door before he stopped to answer her.

"Everybody lies. I thought you knew that by now."

/h


	2. Consequences

House of Cards

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Thanks go to: Reviewers everywhere; you know who you are. And Hallie for the beta.

/h

To further complicate things, when House checked his email the next morning, there was a short note from a Dr. R. Chase. He made the assumption that it was not from the Dr. R. Chase he dealt with in person on a daily basis, and opened it up.

The email consisted of two short lines and an attachment.

__

I would have sent this straight to Robert, but I didn't have an address for him. Please see that he gets it.

R. Chase

Fabulous. Instead of having to fire one of his doctors, he was going to end up with two of them quitting. He hit the 'print' button, then scribbled Chase's name on the sticky notes Cameron always left laying around and tossed the whole bundle on the table in the lounge.

He couldn't resist making a comment to Foreman, who was sitting in Cameron's spot going through a stack of would-be case files for something interesting. "You like me the least and you're the one staying. Stubborn."

Foreman raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. If he was surprised to hear that Chase would probably be leaving, he didn't advertise it.

"See that Chase reads that, if he ever tears himself away from Cameron's bedside." It figured that on a day when he sorely needed a distraction, there was none to be found.

At least, none that he trusted himself with.

/h

The clinic was obscenely busy. As a natural result, House was miserable. At least, he told himself he was miserable, and the patients told each other he was miserable; in point of fact he was reveling in tearing them apart for their stupidity, which did nothing to alleviate or increase his misery.

"He's been throwing up for two days," the boy's mother was saying. "He can't even keep water down. I gave him some Gravol to see if it would help, but there was no change. Is there anything you can do?"

House refrained from rolling his eyes. "Well, we could operate." He ignored the mother's shocked look and poked the boy in the left side of the stomach. "This hurt?"

The kid shook his head. He moved his hand to the other side and poked. The kid threw up all over his shoes. Well, that confirmed the diagnosis. "Mrs. Henderson, we're going to have to admit your son."

"It's Harrison. And what do you mean, admit him? Can't you just proscribe something? I'm late for work as it is."

God, he hated stupid people. "If you want your son to die, by all means say so. You'll have to sign a form saying you refused treatment, of course." House grabbed a pen and scribbled a note to the head of pediatrics in the front of the file. "He's got appendicitis, probably already burst. It's getting very squishy in there." He scribbled a note in the top of the file. "Wait here."

House told the nurse at the station to admit whoever was in exam room one and handed her the kid's diagnosis.

"Dr. House!"

He fought the urge to run (limp) away and braced himself to face her. "Dr. Cuddy. Fancy seeing you here. Is that a new spine?" Probably she was going to say something gloating- or worse, patronizing- about Cameron, and that was the last thing he wanted to hear.

Cuddy took the file from his hands. "Dr. House. You know how I love to stand around and trade insults with you, but you've got patients to consult with. Room two-sixteen. You might want to change your shoes first."

Well, he was getting out of clinic duty. That was something.

/h

He felt a little bit like a homeless man walking around the hospital in orthopedic slippers, but his shoes were fairly disgusting. Anyway, it wasn't like he cared what patients or their families thought of him.

He took a quick look at the file before reaching for the door and had the sudden, overpowering urge to kill Cuddy. The file belonged to Cameron.

__

I hate that woman. It was quite obvious that she had gone through a lot of trouble to get him to the room without tipping him off as to where he was going; that was why she had been so happy to see him leave the clinic: she'd been sending him somewhere arguably worse.

He sighed and pushed open the door.

The three of them were so clearly a family: Mr. Cameron standing closest to the door, looking awkward and uncomfortable, Cameron's mother sitting on the other side of the bed, post-tearful. It gave House an absurd amount of comfort to see Cameron in the middle, seemingly exasperated. Shockingly, her appearance was only one step down from 'anemic': pale, and obviously in pain, but not the corpselike entity she had been the day before.

Time to put away the discomfort and put on the polite face. He'd forgone the lab coat; Cameron would have noticed.

"Dr. House." Mr. Cameron extended a hand. "It's nice to finally meet you. We've heard so much about you."

__

Uh oh, thought House as they shook. "I hope you didn't believe any of it." Probably the most sincere thing he'd said all day.

"Dr. House," broke in Mrs. Cameron, and all of his neurotic mother detectors blared into life, "how could this have happened on hospital property? I thought fancy places like this would have security guards on duty…"

House had thought so, too. "We do. Unfortunately, security guards are human. This one was taking a little nap at the time of the attack." He'd spent two hours going over the surveillance tapes. "I had Cuddy fire him yesterday."

Cameron looked unaccountably surprised at this information.

"If you decide to sue- which you are well within your rights to do, I might add, and it will eat up Vogler's precious resources so _please_ consider it- the hospital will probably settle quietly. Cuddy's feeling guilty enough as it is; she's not charging you for any medical expenses…" He trailed off, then wondered if Cameron's parents had caught the hidden reference to her medical insurance, which was expired now that she no longer worked at the hospital. If it had been anyone else, he would have exposed the secret without a second thought, but it wasn't. "Did you tell them?"

A quick nod, followed by sudden, impenetrable silence. Oops. He'd forgotten that he was supposed to be on his best behavior. Now he couldn't even be _snide_. Cameron would _look_ at him. "So… questions? Technically, I'm not her physician, but if you promise not to tell I could have a peek inside the file."

That got a small smile out of her. "Dr. House suffers from chronic curiosity," she explained. It was an accurate, if dangerously understated, diagnosis. Then, uncertainly, "Maybe it would be better if I heard the prognosis myself first."

Mrs. Cameron, House could tell, was about to go through a distressing round of motherly protestations. Luckily, her husband cut her off and led her slowly through the door.

When it closed, House pulled up a stool and opened the file. "Dr. Wolf didn't go over this with you yesterday?"

Cameron shook her head. "I was too tired. I didn't want… If it was bad news…"

She didn't want to be without support. He could understand that, although it hadn't been his choice in a similar situation. He cleared his throat. "You want to see, or should I just read it to you?"

Another shake of the head, smaller this time. "Migraine." That explained the pale cast to her features. "Let's hear it."

House didn't think he'd ever actually been nervous going through someone's medical file before. Every word seemed to be written in red, impossibly sinister. _Lung puncture. Knife missed the main arteries. Damage to right quadriceps. _"Well, you're going to be in bed for at least a week. Your leg will heal-" and there was a brief moment where he was disturbed by his gratitude for that, when he had expected jealousy- "although for awhile we are going to have matching limps."

"We can have races," Cameron said irreverently.

He almost smiled. Everything looked pretty good, all things considered. Lots of minor damage that would heal up in a matter of weeks. And then, scanning further down the page, his heart stopped. _Oh. _That was it, really. Just _oh_. There weren't words.

"House?" By the tone of her voice, she'd caught his expression. "I can take it. Whatever it is…"

Maybe she could; House would be the first to admit that Cameron was impossibly strong. The problem was, he wasn't sure _he_ was strong enough to tell her. He was a doctor; he did this every day. It should have been easy. With any other woman, it would have been easy. "The third stab wound," he started, and he could tell that she was beginning to understand, because her hand went straight to her belly and she lost any colour she might have had.

House swallowed, and pressed bravely on. "It destroyed a good portion of your myometrium." And because she was on the morphine drip, and because it was half-done to leave off there, to leave her hanging, without a medical encyclopedia to look up her condition and make sure, and how could he tell her this without hating himself, how could she hear it without hating _him_- "There's extensive damage to your uterus. Possibly permanent."

He had expected her to cry, to be upset, to do something other than sit impassively and stare at the wall. She wasn't supposed to handle something so serious better than he did. It was her heart that was supposed to be breaking, her fists that should have been clenching, and not his. She was probably in shock. He knew he was.

"Oh."

Somehow (oh, somehow, he didn't want to think about it, didn't want to acknowledge he had sought her out, that he could be human), somehow her hand was squeezed in his, just for a moment, just until he realized. Just until he found his voice again, until he stopped letting himself feel. "Do you want me to get your parents?"

She shook her head slowly, eyes closed. "No."

Quieter still, "Do you want me to leave?" _Could_ he leave, after telling her something like that? Could he leave her to deal with it on her own?

Cameron didn't answer. House remembered being in her shoes, remembered the past six years of his life, remembered _alone_ and _abandoned_, and stayed just where he was.


	3. Crutch

House of Cards

Part Three: Crutch

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Warnings: Language again, probably; less angst. I'm sticking as close to the spoilers I've read as I can without throwing out my own plot, but I'm not making it clear what's on the show's actual schedule, so there shouldn't be a problem.

****

Rating: Ehh... PG-13?

****

Notes: Follows Crush, Bad Ideas, and the rest of the House of Cards thing.

****

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Maybe for my birthday?

****

Summary: In which Daddy is a suspicious bastard, Cameron is bitter, and House makes a pathetic attempt at an apology.

****

Comments: So appreciated. I love feedback. Really. bribes with more House and less angst

/h

She didn't tell her parents what House had said, and she didn't let herself dwell on it. He'd said _possibly_ permanent (_you're in denial_), and anyway she needed someone to have children with before **that** became an issue. By the time House left the room her parents had guessed there was something seriously wrong with her- otherwise why had he stayed for so long?- but she'd somehow convinced them it was all professional, all scolding for having quit.

"Why _did_ you quit?" her mother asked, and she felt her father's gaze dig into her. He'd always known her best.

"House was going to have to fire one of us anyway. And we couldn't do an MRI until one of us was gone and I didn't want to-"

Her father cut off her rambling with a sharp, matter of fact statement. "You didn't want to wait and see if it would be you."

Yes. She'd wanted to believe, wanted so badly to believe, that it wouldn't be her. But she'd been disappointed by life, by herself, by House enough times that she wasn't willing to bet on anything. She was one rejection over the coping quota.

House always yelled at her for that.

"I couldn't work with him anymore," she said, and it wasn't exactly a lie.

She wished her father wasn't such a suspicious bastard. "Was he harassing you? Is that why you quit?"

Cameron had to choke back a self-deprecating laugh. _Actually, Dad, I was doing my best to harass _him_. I had to fall for the one guy on the planet who's _not_ interested._ "No! No, nothing like that. He can just be a little... abrasive."

"You quit because he's blunt?" her mother asked incredulously. "Because he rubs people the wrong way? Honey, you picked the wrong profession."

Sighing, she defended, "No- I told you, we needed the MRI or the kid was going to die-" _Died anyway,_ chimed in her helpful conscience.

Her father laid a hand on her mother's arm. "Leave it. She's a big girl; she can make her own decisions." His expression said, _We'll talk about this later._

When her mother excused herself to go to the washroom, her dad sat on the wheeled stool House had vacated a little over two hours previously. "So." He leaned forwards on his elbows and settled his head in his hands. "What's the story, princess?"

She closed her eyes. So much had happened in the past few days- weeks, even. Taking a deep breath, feeling the morphine in her veins, she felt the reluctant truth slide past her lips. "I'm protecting myself."

He looked at her calculatingly until she shifted under the weight of his gaze. "That's funny. You've never been that careful when it comes to yourself." A beat. "Allison. Who else are you protecting?"

The words hung in the air for a moment before he passed his judgment. "You're in love with him."

Cameron flinched. She had been avoiding that word- and any words that sounded like it- even within the space of her own mind. The two of them were the last people on the planet that were ready to use that word. But this was her father, and he might have been right on some level, some level she couldn't reach, some level above her head, so she didn't bother denying it and skipped straight to self-justification. "It would never work. He's got more issues than I do."

There was a prolonged silence, and then her father stood up. "That's your choice to make." She always felt like she was three years old when he used that tone of voice. "It's just not like you to give up so easily."

She didn't tell him she'd been trying desperately to find a reason not to give up for months.

/h

"You awake?"

Cameron looked up, surprised that Chase was still in the hospital. She slid a bookmark into her novel- romantic drivel that her mother had picked out ("bodice ripper" would have been an appropriate term)- and gestured for him to come in. "Yeah. What's up?"

"I just..." He looked uncomfortable. Apparently she had that effect on people when she wasn't looking herself. "I wanted to say goodbye."

She blinked, confused. "Goodbye? I've got at least another two days in this joint." She trailed off. "And that isn't at all what you meant and someone's keeping me in the dark."

"House didn't tell you?"

Cameron rolled her eyes. House had been a little scarce lately, not that she blamed him at all. "What, do you think he hides from Cuddy in here or something? He'd probably rather be in the clinic!" But now her curiosity was definitely piqued. "What are you talking about?"

He paced by the foot of her bed, then stopped and leaned against the wall. "My dad's dying of lung cancer. I took a leave of absence. A long one."

"You're not coming back," she said softly, half an apology in her voice. If he was trying to make up for what an ass he'd been for the past few weeks- something he'd been working on since she ended up on the wrong side of the IV- he had a long way to go. Still, she wasn't going to be mean to him when someone he loved was dying of cancer. She'd been through too much to be cruel.

"It should've been me." He sighed deeply in the half-darkness. "House should have fired me."

If she hadn't been feeling so self-righteous just then, so raw from the conversation she'd had with her father, she might not have said it. _Fuck kindness, he deserves to get a little of what he's been giving._ "He tried."

"Yeah, that's not surprising." Chase started to pace again, then finally settled in the chair by the window. "Look, talk to House. Hell, talk to Vogler, if you have to. House will need another staff member."

"I quit, Chase; House didn't fire me."

He snorted. "House would never fire you; he loves you. It would've been Foreman's ass for sure."

Cameron didn't share his conviction. _Any_ of his convictions, really. "House kept me around because he liked to ogle. Don't look so shocked; he's angry and broken, but he's not blind."

"He respects you," Chase argued. "As a doctor and as a person with an extraordinary capacity for kindness." He managed to inflect his words with a tone that was both sullen and complimentary.

"He was fascinated," she countered bitterly. "He figured I was damaged and hired me to solve the puzzle."

There was dead silence in the room. Then, "Did he?"

_Why don't you hate me?_

A resentful, broken smile. "No."

/h

It was ten days before Dr. Wolf decided she was well enough to go home without being a danger to herself. "If you have any problems keeping food down, excessive soreness, swelling, fever, any signs of growing infection- please stop by the clinic."

She'd heard it all before- said it all before, actually- so she just nodded absently as he proscribed Clavulan and Keflex for keeping the infection in check. They were probably going to mess around with her appetite, her sleeping patterns, and her energy level. This sucked.

On top of it all, her leg was killing her. Now she knew what House felt like. Well, sort of.

The crutches they had given her to walk with were awkward, unwieldy, and the very definition of overkill. Not to mention the fact that using them properly pulled at the stitches in her abdomen, and _that_ made her feel like someone was digging out her flesh with a rusty teaspoon.

Dr. Wolf had left them leaned against the wall next to her bed. Just another few hours and she'd be able to leave this Godforsaken hospital with them under her own power, catch a cab home and go home and lick her wounds for a while.

So of course, before her window of leaving opportunity even appeared, there was a knock at the door. It sounded wooden, which meant-

"Come in, House." She'd meant to tell him to go away, but the painkiller they'd given her was starting to kick in again. She didn't open her eyes.

She heard him step-thump over to the wheeled stool, and the slight slide of metal on tile as he sat and slid closer. "I go to all the trouble of dressing up for you, and you're not even going to look at me?"

Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened both eyes briefly. He was wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt beneath a wrinkled button-down, same as always. She hadn't really expected anything different. "Made you look."

Cameron shook her head, trying to ignore the drug-induced dizziness. "Like an eight year old. Come to see the cripple off?"

"Actually," and here she opened her eyes again, curious. "I brought a peace offering." It was a long, thin package, and heavy. He laid it across her lap somewhat sheepishly. "Happy get out of jail free day."

"Oh." The wrapping paper was ugly, faded, probably several years old. She supposed it didn't particularly matter, and tore it off with as much enthusiasm as she could manage.

It was long and smooth, a dark-polished cherry, ergonomically designed handgrip and everything. She should have known. "House… you didn't have to do this."

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. Funny; he was doing that a lot lately. "Think of it as a retirement gift."

"If you want a race, you'll have to wait until I'm used to it. It's only fair."

"I get the feeling that we won't be seeing that much of each other. I guess I'll have to leave the instruction to your physiotherapist."

House had the strangest way of saying goodbye.


	4. Coercion

House of Cards

Chapter Four - Coercion

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Drat.

Note: This is the last chapter of _House of Cards_. The sequel, _Spin_, should be out shortly. I hope to see you there!

/h

He had flowers. Not roses, certainly, or Gerber daisies, or anything she recognized; in fact, they weren't even pretty. It was still absurd. She let him in wordlessly.

They stood there together, bizarre reflections of one another, two cripples leaning on their canes. House, holding the flowers out defensively, spoke first, his voice quiet and demanding and more sincere than she'd ever heard it. "Come back to work."

Cameron wished she could be anywhere but where she was. That House were there for any reason except the one that he was. There were three job offers sitting on her kitchen table and three unwritten letters. She wasn't even sure which one she was accepting.

She took the flowers and limped, half-supporting herself on her cane, to the kitchen.

"Didn't anybody teach you how to use that thing?"

Tossing a glower over her shoulder, she cut the stems and rummaged around for something vase-like. "Thank you."

House was still standing, awkward, in the entranceway, eyes unfathomable when he met her gaze. "Don't make me beg."

They both knew he already was.

She gestured towards the living room and perched on the arm of the couch. House debated for a minute before opting for what was obviously the least comfortable chair in the room.

Cameron took a deep breath and let the words come tumbling out. "I can't."

She glanced at him quickly, knowing immediately that if she looked at him again, she would go back, and everything would revert to the way it had always been, and it would kill her. She probably wouldn't even regret it properly.

The least she could do was make him understand. "I can't go to work with you every day and watch you let yourself be miserable. You pretend to be a worse person than you really are- that you do things because you have to, and not because they're right. All you ever do is push people away. How can I work with someone who won't trust anyone?" _Someone who won't believe in me?_

House was silent for a long time. Then he raised his head, jaw set. "What can I do to change your mind?"

Did he know what he was doing to her every time he looked at her like that? It seemed a little cruel, even for him. She answered him without thinking about it. "Prove that you trust me."

He blinked. "Okay... How?"

And this was probably the last opportunity she would ever get to straighten everything out, to give them a chance. So she opened her mouth and let herself be extremely blunt. "Take me out. On a date." She said the words staccato, to make sure he got the point.

House winced.

"One date is not going to kill you. You might even enjoy yourself."

"I can't."

"Can't enjoy yourself?" Cameron tried not to let the sinking feeling in her stomach show on her face. "Or won't? I don't know, you seemed to enjoy the monster trucks."

"You know what I mean."

She crossed her arms, not ready to give up. "I don't think I do. I think you want me to give in and come back to work and be your mindless lapdog because you feel threatened by the fact that I might mean something to you." He didn't even bother denying it. "I'm not going to crush you."

"Allison."

And that, her name, her first name, on his lips, for the first time, definitely shouldn't have sounded so intimate, shouldn't have sent a wave of heat scorching down her body. It was a good thing she was sitting down.

"Please don't do this to me." She could have sworn she heard his voice break and realized-

He was terrified. The air was thick with tension.

_Don't cave, don't cave, don't cave_. If she didn't push now there would be no second chances. "My offer is on the table. Take it or leave it." She was quite proud of her 'there's the door' tone of voice. Of course, if House interpreted it that way, it was going to backfire on her. Her stomach hurt - _goddamn you, Foreman_- and her hands were shaking.

He took a deep breath and nodded, then stood and headed towards the door. Slightly less steadily, she followed him. He didn't quite turn around to speak. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Eight a. m. sharp."

Allison watched the door close behind him and wondered what, exactly, she had just got herself into.

/h

If anyone was surprised to see her back at work, they didn't say anything, although there was a running joke circulating about her cane. Life at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital went on pretty much the same as it always had: Allison, Wilson and Foreman scrambling to find a case House would accept, followed by several days of intense, nail-biting tests, treatments and differential diagnoses.

House still hadn't said anything about their agreement by Thursday night at five, which made her a little nervous. She wasn't sure she had the gall to bring it up again, or if it would even be worth it if she had to pull teeth to get him to own up to his side of the deal.

But he caught up with her in the parking lot before she left (which was strange, she thought, because he parked in the garage, what with his tenure and his leg and everything), a wary but superior smirk firmly in place. "Quarter to seven tomorrow," he said casually. "I'll pick you up. Wear something nice."

Fighting back the instinctual blush was just barely possible; warding off the sudden curiosity wasn't. "How nice?" Cameron knew better than to simply ask where they were going.

"On a scale of bum to opera singer? I'd say eight." A mischievous gleam sparkled in his eyes. "And wear your dancing shoes."

Then, with an impossibly quick tap-step, he was gone again.

_Eight_, she thought to herself, half dazed. _God, I hope that dress still fits_.

/h

Cameron wasn't sure if Friday was passing in a blur, or trickling by like the morphine drip she occasionally craved. House spent the morning in the clinic handing out Kleenex and Motrin.

_She_ spent the morning impossibly distracted, running off on occasional consults with Foreman or Wilson, jumping at the slightest noises. She hoped her skittishness wore off before six forty-five came around.

When she almost had a heart attack in the lab (she hadn't heard Foreman come in), he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "What is wrong with you today? It's like you're afraid of your own shadow."

Oh, great. This was the last thing she needed. "I didn't sleep well last night." Not a lie. She'd barely slept a wink. It wasn't the cause, it was a common symptom of her apprehension, but Foreman didn't need to know that.

Clearly he was still unconvinced. He took a seat across from her and folded his arms. "I don't buy it. Why'd you come back?"

Now she was going to have to lie. "House offered me my job back." _Practically begged me to take my job back. Not that I'm going to analyze that._ She pushed the thought out of her mind. "It was easier than relocating."

"That's a good cover, but if you were only worried about the hassle of relocating, you wouldn't have quit. But you did. And I bet it wasn't just the kid either. So what changed between then and now?"

This could be trouble. She'd always known she was a lousy liar. She started spinning the test- Wilson's patient, complete blood count after first round of chemotherapy. "What, I can't change my mind?"

Foreman raised his eyebrows. "In a matter of days? Try again."

_Argh_. She crossed her arms. "I don't have to justify my actions to you!"

"Ah. So it _is_ House."

Uh oh. "Right, because he wasn't just as abrasive before I quit."

"You're right. He's been in a much better mood this week."

She'd been hoping he hadn't noticed. "House's mood has nothing to do with me coming back to work." Another half-lie. Another common cause.

And then, abruptly, he dropped the subject. "Maybe you're right. I did overhear him say something to Wilson about having a date tonight."

_Please let me die_. Cameron knew she looked like a deer in the headlights. "That would explain a lot."

"I also thought I heard Wilson mention a certain immunology specialist."

Shit.

"Are you and House going on a date?" Foreman looked like his birthday had come early.

Well, he was going to have a field day in any case. She might as well come clean. She sighed. "He showed up at my apartment Sunday night and asked me to come back to work. I said no."

Evidently Foreman liked juicy gossip as much as the next doctor. "And?"

"I told him I'd only come back if he could prove he could trust people."

"And he decided to do this by taking you on a date?"

Cameron winced. "Actually, that part was my idea."

He shook his head. "I don't get it. Are you some kind of glutton for punishment? You already spend five days a week with a guy who could corrupt a saint. Now you're giving him your weekends?"

"_I am not a saint_," Cameron pointed out, getting irritated. "And I'm sure as hell not trying to martyr myself! Believe it or not, I actually see something in him that other people don't. And _I like it_." She softened. "But it's dying. He's doing his best to drive it off. If he does--" A shrug. "That's his choice. It's a very sad choice, but it's not my place to _save_ him." As if he'd let her, anyway.

The blood sample stopped spinning and a report from earlier finished printing. She grabbed the readout and limped for the door. "Complete blood count for Wilson, since you apparently have nothing better to do."

Ten paces from the lab, she stopped and leaned against the wall. This was definitely harder than she'd thought.

/h

Limping around got tiresome very quickly when one wasn't used to it, and that was how Cameron found herself in the outer office with Foreman and Wilson reviewing case files, ninety-eight percent of which had no chance of getting through House's rigorous screening process.

She had just tossed folder number nine into the 'reject' pile when Wilson passed another one across the table. "This could be it."

She nodded mutely, accepting it and scanning down the list of symptoms. Mid-40s, male, normal weight. Recurring kidney stones, abdominal pain (duh, she thought to herself), spiking temperatures, low white count. And memory loss. And temporary paralysis. And every time he had those kidney stones surgically removed, the symptoms disappeared for a few months.

Interesting.

"Where'd you find this guy? He's going to test positive for everything under the sun!"

"Nope," Foreman said, looking up from his own copy and turning the page over for her. "Nothing."

Cameron closed the file with a sigh. So much for that date tonight. "Well, get him in here. House is going to want to see him for sure."

"I can't wait to hear about this."

She jumped, wondering how long he'd been standing there for, and reviewed the guy's symptoms as House flipped through the list of failed diagnoses and clean tests. "Admit him," he said at last, shockingly without argument, tossing the file back on the table. "He's my new guinea pig. Maybe we can get one of those neat little wheels."

"Those are for hamsters," Cameron said at the same time as Wilson cut in, "We can't."

House raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Wilson shifted and Cameron noted an uneasiness in his posture. He wasn't looking directly at House. Something was up. "Wife brought the file in," he said. "Husband's on a business trip in Atlantic City."

House narrowed his gaze, Wilson looked down and Foreman caught Cameron's eye. "Right!" she said, reaching for her cane, "Well, I'm going to go find the wife and tell her to get her husband over here, I'll see you later."

Foreman got up next. "I'll come with you!"

They left Wilson to deal with whatever it was he'd done and made their way as quickly as possible to the waiting room.

"Mrs. Wardell?"

A tall, slender woman with long dark hair stood up, eyeing the two of them critically before making her way over. Before Cameron could say anything, she raised a skeptical eyebrow and eyed the cane. "Is that a fashion statement, or just a department requirement?"

Something funny was definitely going on here. Cameron was already regretting that they'd accepted the patient. She thought about being nice, but the painkillers twisted her tone. "Let me guess. You know Dr. House."

Foreman said, "Uh oh."

Cameron squeezed her eyes shut, mentally preparing for a week of hell. "Wilson is in so much trouble."

"Don't remind me," he grumbled, coming up behind them. "I should probably make myself scarce for awhile. How are you, Stacy?"

_Stacy. Stacy, Stacy, Stacy._ Cameron wracked her brains, trying to come up with a story or a comment or an uncomfortable moment to put to the name. Finally- _I lived with someone once_.

_Oh, **shit**. Wilson, you **idiot**. You've ruined everything_. House was about as well-balanced as a castle made from playing cards and this was an eight on the Richter scale.

"I've been better," Stacy Wardell admitted, launching into some disturbing small talk with Wilson.

Cameron got Foreman's attention with a nod of her head. "Race you to the elevator," she whispered.

/h

Gregory House was not a happy man. Cameron and Foreman had practically fought for who could be out the door first- Cameron, despite her handicap, had won- and he'd been left there with Wilson, who had the guiltiest, most uncomfortable expression House had seen him wear since his confession that he would not be attending the oncology seminar.

He chose his words carefully. "Stacy's fiancé," he guessed, and was rewarded with a defeated sigh.

"Husband. Three years."

_Ouch_. It stung, but not as much as it could have. "And you were going to tell me about this when?"

"Well, I figured you'd want me to wait until the ducklings left the room."

Oh. Cameron and her somewhat sickening crush. His stomach twisted. He didn't want to bring her into that- didn't want her to understand what had happened to him or what he'd gone through, because that would make it about a hundred times harder to pretend he didn't care about her when he couldn't…. God, it was awful when Wilson was right. "Fine. Great. It would have been nice if you had said something beforehand. I like to be prepared."

"You would have said no."

"Probably."

He didn't even notice Wilson leaving the room. Stacy. Stacy was here, married, happy by Wilson's account. Moved on. Normal life. No bizarre dependencies, no lack of emotional attachment. Well-adjusted.

Oddly, he wasn't jealous of The Husband. He knew Stacy had learned a lesson about when to abandon someone, and he knew that ninety-nine per cent of the population were not people who lent themselves to being abandoned when they most needed someone. The Husband had Stacy now and that was okay. House was pretty sure he was too bitter to ever want her back.

That didn't mean he wanted to see her.

He glanced at the clock- quarter to five. Close enough for his purposes. He grabbed his cane and headed for the door, hoping to avoid any confrontations.

No such luck.

"Hello, Greg."

_Fuck me_. House took a deep breath, steeling himself, and turned around slowly.

Six years hadn't changed her. She had the same dark eyes and hair, the same slender grace, the same careless beauty. For the first time in six years, he realized he wasn't okay.

"Stacy. I'd be lying if I said I was happy to see you."

She had always had an extraordinary capacity to ignore his barbs. "I wanted to say thank you."

House didn't slow down on his way to the elevator. "I'm not doing it for you." Cameron's starry eyes looked up at his motives. _You do it because it's right._ Suggesting that he had a conscience after all. And that she knew about it and was going to use it against him. Fucking wonderful.

"I know." She paused. "Wilson said you were doing better."

Wilson was a dirty traitor and House was angry with himself instead of him, because really Wilson had done the right thing, too, and House was only angry with himself for caring. "This may come as a shock to you, but I have no desire to talk about Wilson." He stopped walking and turned to face her. "Why didn't you just come to me yourself?"

"I had this bizarre idea that you didn't want to see me."

Ooh, well if she was going to get snide with him- "And yet here you are. Listen, I know it may be hard for you to understand this, but it is five o'clock on Friday and I-" House blinked curiously, realizing the absurdity of what he was going to say. "I have someplace to be."

Stacy rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you do. I bet Vivaldi is just sitting in your apartment waiting for you." She softened marginally, and that made him even more anxious to leave. He continued into the elevator, hoping she wouldn't follow him.

No such luck.

"Why don't we have dinner. We can catch up; you can tell me about the work you do in diagnostics…"

"Even I lose patients, Stacy." A none-too-subtle reminder that she was supposed to be here to get her husband healed, not to reconnect with her ex-lover. A reminder for him, as well.

"Dinner?" she asked again, any warmth gone from her voice.

House took three strides from the elevator before allowing himself to turn around again. She would have to make this difficult for him. Yes, he still had feelings for her. No, he did not want any revival of the relationship they had had. Ironically, he was saved from having to make a decision. He couldn't very well back out of a deal. "Can't do it. Got a hot date."

"Oh, please. Wilson would have said something if you were seeing somebody."

_That_ irked him. "What, you think Wilson's more loyal to you than me? I find that highly unlikely. He doesn't sleep on your couch when he's divorcing." He took out a Vicodin- just one, as he was going to be driving- and swallowed it dry. "I was telling Cuddy the other day I needed two days of crazy sex with someone half her age. I play my cards right tonight, they could be the next two days." He had absolutely no intention of sleeping with Cameron, or of taking her out again, for that matter, but he was in the habit of saying outrageous things for pure shock factor. Especially to ex-girlfriends.

Another eye-roll. Ooh, she was getting annoyed. He grinned inwardly. "What is she, a hooker?"

House fished in his pocket for the keys to the 'Vette. Stacy _would_ always think the worst of him. She hadn't, once. "Nope," he said, sliding in and starting the 327 small block. "Doctor."


End file.
